


Cupid's Wayward Arrow

by jadey36



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are strange goings-on in the forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid's Wayward Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this light-hearted fic in May 2011 for a Robin Hood fan board challenge. The prompt given was Maypole Dancing.

The day begins with a fight. Unlike all their other fights, however, this squabble isn’t over whose turn it is to do the Nottingham drops. Nor is it over whose turn it is to hunt for dinner or to gather more firewood. It isn’t even over whether Robin’s latest moneymaking scheme is more suicidal than the last. No. This time it is over the May Day celebrations in Locksley.  More precisely, the coloured ribbons for the maypole. 

Much insists it is a woman’s job and therefore Djaq should do it. Djaq insists it requires a tall man to set the ribbons from the pole and points at John. John purses his lips and stomps off, mumbling, “Stupid idea, ridiculous tradition, love my foot.” Allan simply grins.

Thus it ends up with Robin, a reluctant Much and a still grinning Allan heading out of the forest that early May morning to sort out the centrepiece for the day of merriment and celebration. 

The weather is perfect, the North Road dry now after a recent spell of heavy rain. More importantly, Marian has informed Robin that both Sheriff Vaisey and Guy of Gisborne will be holed up in the castle all day pandering to the wishes of a pompous old fart who just happens to own Sussex.  Perfect. At least, it should be. But nothing in Robin Hood’s world ever seems to be simple and today is already proving to be no exception to the rule.

The first thing to go wrong is Much and Allan arguing over who should carry the brightly coloured ribbons. Robin sorts out that one with a few stern words and a division of labour (sharing the ribbons and fixings between Allan and Much, excluding himself with the explanation that he needs his hands free should his trusty bow be required at short notice). 

The second thing to go wrong is Much dropping a heavy wooden mallet on his foot.  Again, Robin sorts this out, threatening to leave Much on the North Road and thereby missing out on the planned cakes and other such delicacies awaiting them in Locksley (it is amazing how quickly Much’s limp disappears upon hearing this). 

The third thing to go wrong, Robin decides to sort out with a swiftly nocked arrow and a threat. 

“Gisborne.”

“Hood.”

“You and your men put one foot inside Locksley today,” – Robin points his arrow unwaveringly at Gisborne’s chest – “and you won’t see tomorrow.”

Robin takes a step forward. He knows Much and Allan are right behind him, poised and ready to use their weapons at the given signal. 

“What makes today different from any other day, Hood?” Gisborne sneers, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.  “The manor house, indeed the whole of Locksley village, is mine, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I believe you are no more going to put an arrow in me today than you did yesterday, or the day before that, or indeed any other day since you returned to Nottingham.”

Robin’s fingers tighten around the smooth contours of his Saracen bow. He can almost hear the twang of the bowstring; see the black and white fletched arrow protruding from Gisborne’s leather-clad chest. He eases the arrow back further.

“You wouldn’t—”

Robin looses the arrow.  “Whoops, sorry,” he says with a grin.

“Is that the best you can do, Locksley?” Gisborne fingers the tear in his leather doublet.  He flicks his gloved hand at the six men flanking him and Robin and his men find themselves faced with an equal number of swords.

Robin’s face remains passive. “Next time it’ll be your undergarments.”

“Promises, promises.” Gisborne holds his arms out wide, offering the archer his chest. “You won’t kill me and you know it.”

“And you’ll find it hard to walk back to Nottingham with your legs stuck with arrows.”

Much tugs on Robin’s sleeve.

“Aww, look,” Gisborne drawls to his men, “pretty ribbons. Planning on decorating your latest forest dump, I mean camp, are you?” He signals his men to fan out. “I really haven’t got time for this today, Hood. Now get out of my way.”

“No. Not until I see you moving in the other direction.”

“Robin,” Allan warns.

“No, Allan. I’m not having Gisborne spoil the festivities. The villagers have been looking forward to this day for weeks.”

“And it’ll mean nothing to them if you’re dead.”

Robin considers. Allan is right. This day is not only to celebrate the end of winter, but also to celebrate Robin taking up arms against the despotic Sheriff Vaisey.

“All right.” Robin takes a couple of steps backwards, his arrow still trained on Gisborne.  “This isn’t over,” he warns. “Today we are outnumbered, but tomorrow it will be business as usual.”

“I look forward to it,” Gisborne replies.

Robin and his men reluctantly back towards the trees and away from their planned destination.

“I thought Marian said Gisborne would be out of the way today,” Allan softly mouths to Robin as they continue to walk backwards.

“She must have got it wrong.”

“Yeah, either that or the earl found out about the sheriff’s so-called hospitality and legged it back to Sussex.”

Gisborne grins and gives a little wave as the outlaws push into the forest bordering the road. But no sooner have they disappeared into the trees than there is a surprised yelp and, arrow already nocked, Robin bursts out of the forest in time to see two of Gisborne’s men fall to the ground. A heartbeat later and two more men collapse onto the road.

“What the—” Allan begins, only to be cut off as the last two of Gisborne’s men crumple.

“Robin?” Much says.

“It wasn’t me,” Robin says, glancing at his still nocked arrow.

“Then who—”

There is a faint whooshing sound, accompanied by what sounds like a mild curse, and Allan and Robin stare in amazement as Much, too, topples over.

“Gisborne!” Robin roars, running towards his nemesis.

“Hood!” Gisborne pelts towards Robin, sword aiming for the outlaw’s chest. But moments later that same sword smacks onto the road and Gisborne follows suit.

“Allan!” Robin spins around. Allan is lying on the ground, the coloured ribbons still clutched in his out-flung hand.

Frightened now, fearing for his life, Robin darts towards the trees. Something whizzes past his ear. He continues to dodge and weave, heading for deeper cover. Another arrow whooshes over his head. Heart pounding, he dives into a clump of thick foliage and holds his breath. Agonising moments pass.  He hears a rustle, not far from where he is crouched.  Unsheathing his scimitar, he creeps forward determined to confront his attacker. Pushing the bracken and thorn bushes aside, he emerges into a sunlit glade.

There is no one there.

“Where are you?” he calls. “What coward kills men without showing his face?”

Apart from the gentle breeze and quiet birdsong, Robin’s question is met with silence.

The outlaw is about to return to the road when he sees something glinting on the ground.  Stealthily, he approaches, eyes darting everywhere, conscious that at any moment the assassin’s arrow could find him also. It is only as he bends down to examine the strange gold item that Robin recalls that he didn’t see either arrow or blade sticking out of Gisborne, the guards, or his men.

On closer inspection, the gold item proves to be an arrow, the most unusual arrow Robin has ever seen: short and stubby and gold from tip to tail. Robin lowers himself onto his knees, still mindful that the unknown assailant may be watching him, waiting to take a shot. He leans forwards to pick up the arrow. His hand is no more than a palm’s width away when the arrow shimmers and pops out of existence. Faintly, no more than a whisper, Robin hears the word ‘damn’, or something very like it. Heart pounding, he stands up and turns around in a complete circle. Again, there is nothing but the soft stirrings of the forest and quiet birdsong. 

Plunging back through the trees, Robin emerges onto the North Road. Gisborne and the guards are still sprawled in the dirt, as is Much. Allan, however, is awake, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.

Robin cautiously approaches Allan, his eyes darting back and forth in case their attacker is still lurking.

Unsteadily, Allan comes to his feet. “Not being funny, but—” 

“Shush, Allan,” Robin says, frowning. He gives Much a gentle shake. “Much?”

Much jerks away from Robin’s touch. “I didn’t do it,” he mumbles. “I swear I didn’t do it.”

“Much?”  Robin says again, helping Much to sit. 

“Master?”  Much blinks, blinks again and rubs his upper arm. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. What I do know is that we have to get out of here, and fast, before Gisborne and his men wake up.”

“Did you—?” Much is staring at Robin’s bow.

“No,” Robin says. “I didn’t touch them. But somebody or something did.”  He thinks of the golden arrow in the forest. Did he really see it or was it just a figment of his overwrought imagination?

The outlaws are still talking about their strange and somewhat frightening experience as they reach the top of the grassy hill overlooking Locksley.

“Much?” Robin places a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know who or what attacked us back there, but we need to keep our ears and eyes open today.”

“And Much?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t mention what happened on the road to anyone. We don’t want to cause undue alarm.”

“They’ll probably just think we’ve been at the mushrooms. At least, that’s what Marian would say.”

At the mention of Marian, Robin’s heart clenches. Ever since his return from the Holy Land just a few short weeks ago, Marian and he had done nothing but argue and, no matter how hard he tried, there never seemed to be either the opportunity or the time to put things right. Today, Robin was determined to change all that. Today, Robin was going to tell Marian how he really felt about her. After all, was today not a day to celebrate new beginnings?

“She would indeed,” Robin says, “and at any other time I might think she was right, but what happened to us also happened to Gisborne and his men.”

“True,” Much says. 

Robin again thinks of the strange golden arrow that he saw, or thought he saw, lying on the forest floor. He opens his mouth to tell Much, and then thinks better of it.

“Are we celebrating or what?” Allan says. “Only I’d like to get some drinking in before this day is done.”

“Is that all you ever think about?” Much stares at the plates of food being carried and laid on trestle tables and licks his lips.

“Not being funny, but I think drinking myself into a stupor sounds a whole lot more sensible then trying to work out what weird stuff happened to us back on the North Road.”

Robin nods in agreement. “Come on, lads. We’ve got a maypole to decorate.”

~

Locksley village looks lovely, bedecked in garlands of leafy boughs and spring flowers.  Marian looks lovely, too. She is wearing a simple cream frock. A sprig of cherry blossom adorns the glossy brunette hair piled on top of her head.

“Now, there’s a beautiful flower if ever I saw one,” Robin says.

With that, he heads down the hill, Allan and Much following in his wake.

It is only as the three men near the village centre that Robin realises Allan is no longer carrying the decoration for the maypole. 

“Allan? Where are the ribbons?”

“What? What ribbons?” Allan is watching Marian as she carries baskets of food back and forth.

“The ribbons for the maypole?”

“Just beautiful,” Allan says, ignoring Robin’s question. With a silly grin on his face, and an absent wave over his shoulder, Allan strides towards the manor house. 

Shaking his head in bemusement, Robin turns towards the distant forest, thinking that he will have to go back to the North Road and find the discarded ribbons. He is also thinking, however, that perhaps they will simply improvise; he is in no hurry to return to the scene of the strange goings on, nor does he want to risk bumping into Gisborne again. One brush a day with the sheriff’s vile henchman is more than enough.

“I saw her first,” Much says, peevishly.

“Saw who first?” Robin asks.

“Her.”

Robin turns his head, expecting to find Much pointing at some village girl, or perhaps a tavern girl come to join in with the festivities. Instead, he sees Allan, not with the expected jug in his hand or with his thieving fingers upon some noble’s purse, or indeed around some pretty girl’s waist, but talking earnestly to Marian. 

Robin is too far away to hear Allan’s words, but it is obvious from the astonished look on Marian’s face that Allan is not simply remarking on the fine weather and, when Marian’s expression changes from that of consternation to outright indignation, the outlaw wonders what Allan is saying to the woman that he, Robin, loves.

As if in answer to his question, Allan goes down onto one knee, his face upturned towards the stunned Lady Marian.

“Master?  Is Allan . . . er . . . is he . . . er . . . doing what I think he is doing?”

Ignoring Much, Robin continues to stare, open-mouthed, as Allan pats his numerous pockets and pouches as if searching for something. A moment later, the crafty tavern trickster looks up at Marian, shrugs his shoulders and works the bronze ring (a spoil from a successful castle raid last week) from the middle finger of his right hand. Allan offers her the ring and instantly receives a sharp slap across the cheek.

“Serves him right,” Much mumbles.

Robin is still too stunned to speak. What is Allan doing?  Surely he knows how Robin feels about Marian, what she means to him. Hell, everyone knows with the exception perhaps of Marian. And yet there he is, one of Robin’s trusted gang members – Allan ‘love-em-and-leave-em’ a-Dale – proposing to Robin’s sweetheart in the middle of Locksley where everyone can see.

Magic mushrooms, indeed.

Marian, looking more than a little annoyed, grabs Allan’s arm and yanks him to his feet.  Pointing at Robin and Much she shoves the cutpurse away, picks up her basket of cakes and proceeds towards the tables. Her annoyance is short-lived, however, as, even from this distance, Robin can clearly see her shoulders bobbing up and down in uncontrolled mirth. 

Allan glances sheepishly at Robin, shakes his head – although Robin cannot tell whether it is in apology or because he is trying to clear it – and drunkenly stumbles towards a table containing several jugs and a whole mountain of wooden goblets.

“Much. I think I should go and . . . ”

But Much is no longer standing at his former master’s side. In fact, he is in almost the same spot Allan occupied only a moment ago, in front of an incredulous Marian, and down on one knee.

Allan’s behaviour, Robin can understand. Although how Allan could have the audacity to propose to Marian, considering she was off-limits as far as the gang were concerned, Robin has no idea. And the ‘will you marry me’ bit is also very unlike Allan, the word ‘marriage’ being to Allan-a-Dale what the word ‘guards’ is to Robin and the gang, namely run, as far and as fast as you can. All Robin can assume is that the blow to Allan’s head as he hit the North Road had done more damage than Allan’s cursory rub of his brown-blond hair had indicated.

Much, however, is another matter altogether. He would no more ask Marian to marry him than he would declare that he was going on hunger strike.

Men dropping like flies, mysterious golden arrows, and Allan and Much proposing to Marian – can the day get any weirder, Robin wonders.

“Bad day, Locksley?”

Startled, Robin spins around.

“I thought I told you to stay away from Locksley.”

“As you can see, _outlaw,_ I have come alone, and I am unarmed.”

Gisborne returns his attention to the incongruous scene of Much prostrating himself in front of an increasingly confused Marian.

“What on earth does that _peasant_ think he is doing? The Lady Marian requires a husband of standing, not a stupid little twit like that.”

Before Robin can stop him, Gisborne is striding towards the now apologetic Much and the equally apologetic Marian.

The moment Gisborne goes down on one knee, Robin can stand it no longer.

“Just what the hell do you think you are doing, Gisborne?”

“Proposing, what does it look like? Now back off, Hood, or I’ll change my mind about not hurting you today.”

“You can’t ask Marian to marry you,” Robin retorts. “She’s my—”

“She’s your what?”

Yes, what exactly was Marian? His betrothed? Hardly. As far as Marian was concerned he’d given up any claim on her since the day he’d joined King Richard on his glorious crusade. 

“She is . . . she is the woman I intend to marry,” Robin blurts.

Marian smiles and then quickly wipes the smile from her face as Gisborne presses a huge and absurdly ornate ring into her left hand.

“It would please me,” he says, “if you would do me the honour of wearing my ring as a symbol of your intention to become the future Lady Gisborne.”

Robin snorts.

“What?” Gisborne snarls. “Think you can do any better?” He turns back to Marian. “Lady Marian, an answer if you please.”

Marian smiles.

“Marian,” Robin says, eyes wide in disbelief. “Surely, you can’t . . . you won’t . . . you wouldn’t—”

“Robin.”  Marian curls her fingers around the chunky ring. “You are an outlaw. You live in a forest. You bathe once in a blue moon. Whereas, Guy here—”

“Guy, what?” Robin explodes.

“Has prospects. And wealth. And a house with doors and windows.”

“Marian.” Robin can’t believe his ears. He would rather she had chosen Allan or Much before this pig of a man. “You can’t honestly tell me that you have feelings for this man.”

Marian slowly uncurls the fingers still clutched around the ring. “Robin, Guy has asked me to marry him and I am going to put this ring on my finger.”

“No. You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

“Since when did you have the right to tell me what to do?” Marian’s lips twitch in what Robin can only describe as mischievous amusement. With that, she slides the ring onto her finger.

“Lady Marian, you have made me the happiest man in the world today,” Gisborne gushes, coming to his feet. He turns to give a self-satisfied grin to Robin, only to find the outlaw grinning at him in return because Robin has noticed that Marian slid the ring onto one of her right hand fingers.

“Guy?” Marian says.

Gisborne turns to face her and she smacks him in the jaw. 

He stumbles backwards, a hand instinctively shielding his face. Then, surprise giving way to anger, he yanks off his glove and savagely wipes his mouth. His hand comes away bloody. 

“Impressive,” Robin says, as Marian hurls the ring at the very irate, very embarrassed and bleeding Sir Guy.

“Now then, handsome,” Marian says, eyeing the chuckling outlaw. “Seeing as just about every man and his dog are proposing to me today, don’t you think it’s your turn?”

“What? Here? Now?” Robin looks and feels distinctly like a man caught in a trap.

“Now is as good a time as any, don’t you think?” 

“But what about the outlaw, forest, bath thing?”

“Well, of course, we will have to sort that out before the wedding, but I do quite fancy having some sort of adornment on my left hand that isn’t a man’s ring, a piece of fashioned bread or a gemstone that will render me unable to lift a spoon.”

“But, Marian, I don’t have—”

“The ring can wait, Robin. The words cannot.”

Despite their dusty, and in Gisborne’s case bloody, outcomes, it is obvious to Robin that Allan, Much and Gisborne all had some chosen words when it came to asking for Marian’s hand in matrimony. While he – although clearly the one Marian is most happy to answer yes to – cannot think of a single thing to say, other than will you marry me.

Robin stares at the dusty ground and, as he does so, an arrow-shaped shimmer of gold appears by his boot. He flicks his eyes about him, looking for the mysterious archer that shoots golden arrows, but can find no one, and when he glances down the ghostly arrow is gone.

“Well?” Marian says, tapping her foot.

Robin sighs, lays his bow on the ground, and lowers himself onto one knee. Glancing fearfully at Marian, he says, “The first time I held my bow I knew.”

Marian stares uncertainly at him, wondering where this particular proposal is heading.

“It felt right,” Robin continues, thinking not of the golden arrow, but of his own trusty Saracen bow, the one that has kept him and others safe for countless years. “It felt like it had been made for me.” Robin sucks in a breath. “And that’s how I feel about you.”

Marian breaks into a smile. Robin smiles, too, feeling more confident.

“I promised your father I would protect and look after you, but it works both ways. I look after my bow because it protects and looks after me. Together we’re stronger.”

Marian is silent, staring at Robin.

“So . . . Marian, will you marry me?”

Robin hears, ‘Yes. Got it right at last’. It is no more than a whisper and definitely not Marian. And when he looks up at Marian, he swears it is more than the gold of the sun bouncing off her luscious locks.

“Marian?” he prompts.

Marian chuckles. “Robin, of every single man in the world . . . you are the only one—”

“Well,” Robin interrupts, “is that a yes?”

“Will you let me finish?”

Contrite, he ducks his head. “Sorry.”

“The only one,” Marian continues, “who would propose in the middle of Locksley village, next to a great big pole, by comparing me to your weapon.”

“That’s a no, then?” Robin asks. He looks up at the maypole and feels suddenly inadequate.

“Robin,” Marian says. “I would have said that was the most unlikely proposal I have ever heard, but after Much’s ‘you can cook for me while I worship your loveliness’, Allan’s ‘what with my brains and your brawn’, and Gisborne’s pompous proposal, yours is positively wonderful.

“That’s a yes, then?” Robin asks, tentatively.

“Absolutely, positively.”

Robin breaks into a huge smile, comes to his feet and takes Marian in his arms. 

“Sorry about the bow thing,” he says, staring into her beautiful blue eyes. “It was the best I could think of at the time. I can do it again if—”

“Robin,” Marian warns, putting a finger to his lips. “If I have to listen to one more marriage proposal today I think I will scream. Now, quit your talking and kiss me.” 

Robin thinks this is a very good idea.

~

It has been a long day, and a strange one. After a prolonged kissing spell with his future bride, Robin jogs to the North Road, intent on finding the ribbons for the maypole and determined to find out just who and what has been playing mind games with his men and Gisborne.

However, when he reaches both the road and the sunlit glade, where he earlier hid from the mysterious archer’s arrows, he can find neither ribbons nor golden arrows. 

Empty-handed and increasingly puzzled, Robin returns to Locksley. There he finds a rather drunk Allan staring bemusedly at his ring-less right hand and mumbling ‘who’d ‘ave thought someone could steal a ring off me hand and in broad daylight, too’, and an equally drunk Much, staring in bewilderment at his filthy knees and tunic, while stuffing his mouth with bread. 

Robin smiles and looks for Marian. He spies her near the undecorated maypole. 

“Robin, did you find the ribbons?” she asks.

“No, not a sign of them.”

“Oh well, no matter. The people seem happy enough to dance around the maypole as it is.”  Marian points to several young couples, arms about each other, as well as a handful of small children gaily chasing each other round and round the tall wooden pole. 

“Talking of dancing,” Robin says with a sly look on his face. “How about a dance with your future husband?”

Marian offers Robin her hand. “I’d be delighted.”

“I was thinking about a private dance.” Robin suggestively waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh. Right. In the forest?”

“I know a magical little spot,” he says, taking hold of Marian’s hand and entwining their fingers together.

“Lead on, my handsome outlaw.”

With a final bewildered look at Much and Allan, and at the single, black glove lying on the ground, Robin gently pulls Marian away from the merrymaking towards Sherwood Forest.

He is no longer worried about strange golden arrows. In fact, Robin of Locksley is rather hoping that on reaching that sunbathed little glen the golden arrow will work its magic once more.

**~  fin  ~**


End file.
